


On the Bottom

by pennydreadful



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, M/M, Topping from the Bottom, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydreadful/pseuds/pennydreadful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tops from the bottom and Sherlock is an awkward hot mess, as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write John topping from the bottom. Sherlock is virginal and baffled, as well. This might be a little triggering for people who have sexual issues.
> 
> **Since I get these questions a lot: I fully give my permission for anyone to translate any of my works into any language, make podfics/audiobooks out of them, or post them elsewhere (as long as you give me proper credit). Go for it, you don't have to ask! And thank you very much!**

John awoke feeling warm, snug, happy, and comfortable.

And a rock-hard prick pressed into the small of his back.

He opened one eye. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains and steeped the bedroom in a luscious golden splendor. He wasn't in his bed, but this didn't alarm him, because he was in Sherlock's bed and that was acceptable as well. The bedclothes smelled musky, reminiscent of the things they'd done last night.

John opened the other eye, and shifted, pushing back a bit. He heard a grunt. Sherlock shifted as well, pressing tighter against him, so the curve of his cock fit perfectly into the bare slope of John's lower back. John smiled. He decided this was a fine good morning.

Then Sherlock, in his typical fashion of ruining all good moments, had a small conniption.

John was startled at the sudden flailing at his back, at Sherlock giving a surprised shout like something horrible had slithered under the sheets. John quickly rolled over, ready to pummel whatever massive insect had apparently just dropped from the ceiling onto Sherlock's face.

Instead he saw Sherlock sprawled on his back, covers flung off, staring wild-eyed down at his hard cock like it had just issued him a death threat.

John wasn't sure which emotion he was supposed to register: concern, confusion, or amusement.

"Er," John said.

Sherlock looked at him, eyes bleary with sleep but his expression one of clear horror. He looked back at his cock, then at John again, as if silently asking him to explain.

John looked at it too. Aside from being erect, it didn't seem any different than a normal, healthy penis.

"It's um—" John ruffled a hand through his hair. "It's…erect? It happens, to most men…um, usually?"

"Not to me," Sherlock said sharply.

"You've never had morning wood?" John frowned, calling up everything he'd learned in medical school. "I don't think that's physically possible Sherlock, unless you're entirely impotent, which I know from last night isn't the case."

"It's happened, but not for this _reason_."

John just stared at him. Sometimes it took him a bit to catch up to Sherlock, and this was definitely one of those times.

"What reason?" John asked.

"I'm aroused."

John had to bite back a giggle. "Obviously."

"No, John." He gave him a look that would have frozen over a desert. "I mean, I'm horny, to put it in the vernacular. I want to have sex."

John was still fighting not to laugh. "Well, yes. That's generally why one gets an erection. It's not a priapism and I don't think you have a spinal cord injury."

Sherlock heaved a great sigh. John was trying not to focus on how ridiculous he looked, sprawled on his back and glaring at his own cock.

"I don't get horny, John."

John arched an eyebrow. "Ever?"

"Not before last night, anyway." It sounded like an accusation.

"Never in your whole life you've been horny? I don't buy that."

"If I have been, I've deleted it." He waved a hand dismissively. "It's unimportant, a distraction from work."

"Until last night," John said, a bit icy. "Because I'd like to think you weren't just shamming during that whole thing."

"Not shamming no, but I told you, I was inexperienced."

"Yes. A 34 year-old virgin who doesn't get horny or have morning wood." He looked at Sherlock's cock, then back at his face, and grinned. "Until now, anyway."

"Did you put some sort of curse on me, John?" Sherlock's voice went up a notch. "Is this what happens after you have sex? You want to have it all the time? Because if you didn't tell me about this disastrous consequence—"

John finally couldn't hold back the laughter and buried his face in the pillow.

"John, this is no laughing matter! This is a grave and most _unexpected_ result."

John laughed harder.

"Are you going to do something about this?" He was nearly shouting. "You can't do this and then just laugh at me!"

John lifted his head, still giggling, and wiped his eyes.

"Sherlock," he said around his laughter. "It's not the end of the world. It's just a hard-on."

"Will it stop?"

A fresh round of giggles.

"You're absolutely impossible! I demand to know the answer. Will it go away? Will I keep thinking about it?"

John tried to compose himself for Sherlock's sake. "Yes, it'll go away. You'll quit thinking about it or—I don't know. Have a wank. Or sex, again."

Sherlock looked down at his cock and seemed to be considering his options. He then heaved a great sigh and flopped back. "All right," he said. "Go on then."

John frowned. "Go on with what?"

Sherlock looked at him. "Have sex with me."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't know how I'll even manage to hold out for it. All this brilliant foreplay, it's turning me on so badly."

Sherlock frowned. "Do I have to do something special? Because I've just woken up John, and I'm still quite tired. I just want this to go away."

"You're the laziest human being on the planet," John informed him. "And the most unromantic, as well."

"I don't know how to be romantic, John. Do you require flowers or a box of chocolates before we have sex? Do I have to have dinner with your parents?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow, he didn't regret having sex with Sherlock the night before. It had been quite nice actually, and as an added bonus he didn't speak for most of the experience. Maybe because it was the first action John had gotten in some time, but the orgasm was incredible and he wouldn't mind another. As such, he rolled away and said, "I'll fetch the lube."

When he returned with the lube and a condom, he didn't bother trying to coax Sherlock into some petting and stroking, or give him his first blow job lesson like he wanted to. Sherlock looked so languid and put-upon he might actually have a coronary from the effort.

John was fully prepared to do all the work, and he had two slick fingers buried to the second knuckles in Sherlock's arse, when Sherlock heaved a great, disappointed sigh. John had just started to get into it, his own cock getting stiff.

"What?" John asked, stilling his hand.

"That's not right."

John looked up at him, from his vantage point next to his hip. Sherlock was still hard and leaking onto his stomach. John wanted to lick the little puddle of clear fluid up, but Sherlock's hubris was making it hard to be sexy.

"With all due respect," John said, "this is one area I actually know quite a bit more about than you, so I don't think you can judge if I'm doing it right or not."

"No, no, not that." He waved a hand in the air. "I mean, it's not what I want."

"What?"

"It's not what I want." He lifted his head and looked down at John. "It's not what my body wants."

John, for the second time that morning, struggled to keep up. "Uh—okay? I thought you were horny."

Sherlock dropped his head back on the pillow. "I am. Just look at it." He pointed accusingly at his cock.

John felt awkward having an argument while his fingers were inside a man's arse. He withdrew them carefully.

"So…what do you want?" He looked around for his discarded t-shirt from the night before, found it, and wiped his fingers.

"I want—" Sherlock lifted his hands, dramatically, and froze that way for a moment. He seemed to be trying to articulate. "I want to—" He lowered his arms. "To penetrate. To put my penis in something."

John blinked a few times.

"It's an urge." Sherlock looked at him. "I find it hard to describe."

John licked his lips. "You want to fuck me."

Sherlock jerked his head up off the pillow, eyes widening, his entire face lighting up. He looked at John the way he did when John figured something out on a case.

"Yes, that's it! Brilliant, John! Yes, I want to fuck you."

"Uh, yes. Well. You've never done that before, have you?"

Sherlock frowned quizzically. "No. Does it matter?"

"A bit. You're inexperienced."

"Yes, but how does one get experience?" He dropped his head back on the pillow. "By doing."

"Yes, and that's all well and good if you're learning to drive a car, but this is you putting your prick in my arse we're talking about, and that's quite a delicate matter."

"How so?"

"You remember when I penetrated you last night, yes?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"Imagine if I hadn't taken it slowly or had you nice and lubed up first. Imagine if it hurt like hell because I had no bloody idea what I was doing."

"So we'll lube you up, and I'll take it slowly."

"Uh huh. You took almost an hour of preparation last night, before you'd even let me put the head in."

"Are you saying you don't trust me?"

"That's not an argument I fancy having right now."

Sherlock sighed and folded his arms behind his head. He glared up at the ceiling. "Well then, get yourself ready and just sit on it. Because I want to penetrate you."

John stared at him.

Sherlock looked at him. "Please," he said imperiously.

John wondered exactly how desperate he was for a shag a few minutes later, as he lay on his back with his knees drawn up and his hand between his legs, down low, a lube-slicked finger buried inside himself. Lucky he was randy, or it would have been incredibly awkward. As it was, he was fully hard and the urge to see this to its hopefully non-traumatic conclusion was strong.

Sherlock rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow.

John looked over at him.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" Sherlock asked.

"Staring at me."

"You're lying next to me fingering yourself. What am I supposed to look at?"

"If you're not going to help, turn your back. You're making me nervous."

Sherlock decided to help him. John groaned when Sherlock gripped his cock and twisted his own finger deeper inside him. He'd need at least one more; it had been a while since he'd been on the bottom.

Sherlock stroked him, too lightly, too fast. John looked down at his hand.

"You've never wanked before either, have you?"

"I have so," Sherlock replied petulantly. "Why do you think I haven't?"

"Because you have no idea how to handle a prick." John reached down with his free hand and gripped Sherlock's wrist, slowing his movements. "Squeeze a bit tighter. No, not that tight!" Sherlock's grip loosened. "There. Firm, like that. And slower. Let me feel it."

Sherlock worked his hand slow and rhythmically. John slid his finger out of himself, applied more lube, and started working in two digits. He thought about asking Sherlock if he'd like to help, but if he was that bad with his cock he didn't want him anywhere near a part he could actually make bleed.

"I have wanked before," Sherlock said. "Twice. Both times were a disaster."

John frowned. "How…did you make wanking a disaster?"

"Couldn't have an orgasm. Didn't know how to fantasize. And the second time I twisted my wrist and couldn't use it properly for three days."

John didn't know if he should feel sorry for him or horrified. "You're an odd one, Sherlock. You've never been very sexual, have you?" It was a peculiar time and position for analysis, but he was getting used to that with Sherlock. As a doctor, he probably would have sent him to a sex therapist.

Sherlock sighed. He was still stroking away. "Sexual thoughts get in the way of more important ones, John. Desire makes us slaves to our flesh. The body is just transport, an inefficient one at that, all muddled with hormones."

John chuckled. "You seemed to enjoy your flesh last night. You—did enjoy it, yes?"

"It was pleasant." A little smile quirked his lips.

"And you came. I was there for it."

"Yes, the key is prostate stimulation apparently. I'll have to remember that if I give masturbation another go."

John imagined Sherlock wanking while stimulating his prostate and groaned softly, pushing his fingers in deeper.

"I won't—you won't have prostate stimulation while you're fucking me," John said, his voice gone weak. "Unless we're somehow in a position I can finger you at the same time."

"It's all right. I want to see if I can orgasm with just stimulation to my penis as well."

"You say the sexiest things."

By the time John climbed on top of Sherlock, well lubed and opened up, he was quite ready to go.  Sherlock lay back, gazing up at him, and did no more work than placing his hands on John's hips. No matter. John had already put the condom on him and he reached between them and gripped his cock.

"Don't try to push up or anything, not at first," John told him. "Let me slide down on it and get used to it. I'll tell you when you can thrust."

Sherlock just nodded.

John took his time. He'd forgotten how alarming it felt at first, having something inside him, and then alternately how good it felt as he slid Sherlock in deeper. He was thick, just long enough to make him feel full but not hurt, and he had a nice curve that made the head slide right up against his prostate. By the time John was seated fully against his hips, he wondered why the bloody hell he didn't bottom all the time.

"How's that feel?" John asked. Sherlock's breath had quickened and his cheeks had turned a charming shade of pink.

"It's…" Sherlock stared down at where they were connected, fingertips digging into the flesh above John's hipbones. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but didn't come up with an adjective. John felt smug he'd just rendered him speechless.

"It feels fucking amazing on my end," John said. "You're so hard. Have you ever been this hard before?"

Sherlock just shook his head, curls shuddering.

"Is this what your body wanted?" John lifted his hips, letting a few inches slide out, then sunk back down.

"Oh God," Sherlock gasped out, his eyelashes fluttering. "It's—"

John smiled. He rocked forward a bit, breath hitching when the blunt tip of his cock nudged just the right spot. "Oh yeah," he breathed out.

He took his time, reinforcing when he felt Sherlock inching his hips up that he needed to keep them still and wait. Sherlock seemed to be in a haze, eyelids drooping over unfocused pupils, still clutching John's hips. He didn't make a sound, his mouth slack, lips glistening. John wondered if he'd broken him.

"All right, all right," John finally said. He was sliding up and down smoothly on Sherlock's prick, the shaft gliding easily in his relaxed passage. "You can move now."

Sherlock remained still, staring up at him like he was stoned.

John slid him out, almost to the head, then took him again, burying him inside to the root. He looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"You can thrust now. It's all right. I'm ready."

Sherlock nudged his hips up, just a little. Then he stilled again. He looked distressed.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "Just…thrust your hips."

"I can't."

"What?"

"I can't." He sounded almost panicked.

"Why?"

"I just…" He worked his mouth, as he had before. "The sensation. I can't."

John just stared at him a moment. He tried to push aside some of the lust raging through his body and figure this out.

"You're overwhelmed?" John asked him.

Sherlock just nodded, turning his gaze away.

John smiled. "It's all right. Happens when you're inexperienced. Should I…stop?" He begged silently _oh please God say no_.

Sherlock glanced back at him.

"Sherlock."

"It frightened me," he blurted out.

John frowned. "What did?"

"Last night, when I had an orgasm. I've never felt anything like that."

It had not gone unnoticed how quiet Sherlock was during sex, nor how he'd somehow managed to become even stiller when he came. Or his silence after. John had realized then he was overwhelmed, but he didn't know to what extent.

"You're frightened because it's going to happen again," John said. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," he whispered.

John leaned over, making Sherlock slip out a bit. He was still quite hard, whatever his emotional state. John kissed him gently, then murmured, "I want you to relax."

Sherlock gazed up at him.

"Relax all your muscles," John said. "Each of them, one by one. Let all the tension run out. Breathe, nice and slow. Don't think about what's happening, just focus on relaxing your body."

Sherlock slowly sagged beneath him, softening like butter under heat. He drew in slow, deliberate breaths, letting them out just as carefully. The tightness in his expression eased and he relaxed his grip on John's hips. He gazed up at John, gradually with more curiosity than panic.

"Now," John murmured. He started moving his hips slowly. "Turn your attention on how good it feels and start moving your hips when you're ready. Not until you're ready, though. Don't rush."

John worked his hips, slow and fluid. He basked in his surroundings, the warmth and brightness of the room, the soft squeak of the bedsprings as he rocked his knees against the mattress. The faint, slick sounds of Sherlock slipping in and out of him. He gripped his own prick and started stroking it with long, luxurious strokes.

"John," Sherlock whispered. He tightened his grip on his hips again and finally pushed up.

John felt sparks shoot through him, a hard spike of pleasure up into his body and he threw his head back and moaned.

"Is that right?" Sherlock asked, breathless.

"Yes," John urged him. "Do it again."

Sherlock thrust up again, then again. In short time he had a nice hard, quick rhythm going and John was riding him, one hand on his cock and the other bracing himself on the bed.

"Yes, fuck, yes," John gasped, head bowed. "That's it, give it to me."

Sherlock was doing an admirable job. He was digging his heels into the mattress, his thighs tense and trembling against John's backside. John was helping as much as he could, but mostly letting Sherlock dictate the rhythm.

"Oh, it's too much," Sherlock moaned out, and twisted beneath him. "I can't—"

"It's all right," John said. "Take a moment if you need to."

Sherlock dropped his hips back against the bed. John followed them and sunk down on his cock with a shudder. Sherlock's eyes were closed, grimacing as if it were painful. He was still squirming, moving his legs, dragging his heels against the bed.

"All right?" John asked him. "Just calm down a little." Sherlock raked his fingernails over his thighs.

He finally got Sherlock to breathe again and relax. He chuckled and Sherlock opened his eyes a slit, squinting up at him.

"I don't suppose," John laughed again, "you've ever heard the phrase 'topping from the bottom?'"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I'd heard about it, but never experienced it. Until now. It's when the bottom is in charge of the sex, even though they're the one being penetrated."

Sherlock made a low, rumbly noise in his throat.

"I was thinking—" John slid a hand over Sherlock's sweaty chest. "Maybe if we changed positions, if you had me on my knees, you might feel a little more in control and less anxious."

Sherlock opened his eyes fully and gazed up at him.

"Also, it'd be over quicker. A bit ashamed to admit it, but I come pretty fast and hard when I'm taking it from behind. It's just so intense."

Sherlock moved his hips, making John gasp softly. "It sounds interesting," he said thickly. "All right."

John slid off him. He felt obscenely opened up and had lube clear to his thighs. However, he reasoned he had very little to be ashamed of at this point. He grabbed his already soiled t-shirt and put it underneath him to catch the mess, then situated himself on his arms and knees with his arse in the air. He looked back over his shoulder at Sherlock and found him contemplating him with mild alarm.

"It's all right," John assured him. "Just like before, only you're in control now. That should make you feel a little better. You can do whatever you like."

He felt Sherlock move up behind him, felt the hot, firm slide of his cock between his cheeks a second later. He adjusted his hips and took a deep breath. "Just—don't be alarmed by any yelling I might do. Unless I explicitly tell you to stop, it's all good."

"Will you be yelling loudly?"

"I might, yes."

Sherlock lined himself up and pushed back in. John wasn't worried about him taking it slow and easy this time. He nearly bit his own tongue off when Sherlock shoved in to the hilt, however.

"Oh Christ," John gasped out. "Oh Jesus, fuck me."

Sherlock did seem a bit more confident in this position, gripping John's hips again, thrusting smooth and swift. John tried to choke back the first few vocal reactions, then let go with the inevitable yelling, pushing his face into the bed to muffle it. Thankfully, Sherlock didn't slow down. He actually sped up, and John's brain completely shut down, everything going white behind his eyelids.

"Sherlock!" he managed to get out between shouts. "Oh, don't stop. Please don't stop!"

His prick was much too sensitive to touch, and doing so would push him over the edge from pleasure to agony, so he was glad Sherlock had no concept of what a reach-around was. He could easily come without being touched in this position, he didn't need any further stimulation.

"You sound like I'm hurting you," Sherlock grunted out above him, and slammed inside again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, fine," John panted. "Oh, God. I'm almost there."

"Almost where?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"I'm going to come." John scrabbled at the covers, clutched the blanket tight in his fist. "Almost, almost there."

Sherlock continued his hard, full thrusts, thank God. "Is this good?" he queried, breathless. He sounded a bit proud of himself.

John reached back and clutched at Sherlock's hand on his hip, dragged his nails across the back of it, delirious with his impending orgasm. "Yes, fuck. Sherlock. Say my name."

"Your name?"

"God, yes. Please. Say it."

Sherlock slammed into him one more time, hard, so deep. "John," he gasped out.

That was the tipping point, and John came, in damn near anguish, yelling into the mattress. He reached down and gripped the base of his cock, but didn't stroke, feeling each pulse like a hammer to the base of his spine. He didn't think he'd ever come so hard in his life. He clenched tight around Sherlock, felt his length and girth buried deep inside him, and came some more. He started to fear he was never going to stop, each spurt as thick as the last and showing no sign of lessening.

Sherlock must have been surprised by John squeezing around him, as the sensation appeared to shock him straight into orgasm as well. He made a sound that would have been unholy and frightening in any other circumstance and then proceeded to shout "Fuck!" several times over. John felt his cock pulsing inside him, riding him harder along the sharp edge of his orgasm.

When John finally stopped pulsing and slumped against the bed, all his muscles had turned to jelly. He barely had the self-awareness to realize Sherlock was having a meltdown behind him.

"It's all right," John panted. He tried to squirm off him. He could feel Sherlock shaking, holding onto his hips with a death grip. He was drawing huge, heaving breaths that nearly sounded like sobs. "Sherlock, it's all right. Would you please slide out of me?" He reached back and grabbed one of his hands. "Grip the base of the condom while you're pulling out."

Sherlock somehow managed to obey and slid out of him. John turned over and Sherlock collapsed onto his back, shaking and wide-eyed.

"It's all right," John said, reaching for him. He smoothed a hand over his chest. His heart was hammering furiously. "It's fine, breathe. Breathe and relax, like before."

Sherlock kept drawing huge, heaving breaths. John was going to be extremely upset if he hyperventilated. "Is it always like that?" Sherlock demanded, sounding angry. "Why does it feel like that? Why is it that strong?"

"It's an orgasm, Sherlock. It's supposed to feel like that. It's the most intense thing you can ever experience."

"It's frightening. It's like I've lost all control over my body."

"Yes. Because you have. But doesn't it feel good, too?"

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, still breathing hard. Finally he said, "Maybe. Yes."

"You feel a little better now? Not so horny?"

"Yes."

"Maybe yours are so intense because you don't have them very often." John lifted his head. "Looks like you've come quite a bit. Let's get that off you." He peeled the condom off and smirked. "As a doctor, I will remark your semen production appears quite healthy. Any sexual issues you have are in your head."

Sherlock made a disgusted sound. "Human bodies are so treacherous."

A while later, after they'd cleaned up and John had stuffed his quite saturated t-shirt in the hamper, they both stretched out naked on the bed. There was nothing pressing on at the moment and they could relax. Sherlock gazed up at the ceiling, fingers curled against his chest, and John could practically hear him thinking, he was doing it so hard.

"John," he finally said.

"Mm?" John was resting on his side, drifting in a blissful stupor.

"Can I pose some questions?"

"Go right ahead."

A pause. Then, "Do you like being bummed?"

John chuckled. "Yes. Obviously."

"More than you liked bumming me?"

"Would you stop saying 'bumming?' Are you twelve?"

Sherlock looked at him sharply. "The answer?"

"I like both," John said. "Which one did you like better?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think I liked bum—penetrating you more. I felt less helpless."

"You felt helpless when I fucked you?"

"You didn't feel that way when it was reversed?"

"No." John shrugged. "It felt good. I felt taken. But I didn't feel helpless. I guess we need to work on that with you."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment.

"Why did you want me to say your name?" he asked.

Heat flared in John's cheeks. "I…don't know, really. Sometimes, when we're really aroused we want things we can't explain later. The mind gets saturated with pleasure and it just—happens."

"You came when I did it."

"Yes. I just—" He couldn't believe Sherlock was actually embarrassing him. "It seemed sexy at the time."

"Why?"

John scowled and sat up. "Sherlock, stop analyzing everything to death. Sex isn't something you approach with scientific query. You're just supposed to enjoy it."

Sherlock considered him for a moment, then looked back up at the ceiling, pressing his fingers beneath his chin. After a moment he said softly, "I'm trying."

John eased back down and rested his cheek against Sherlock's bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to make sure you enjoy it more next time. If you want a next time."

Sherlock turned his face toward John and he felt his lips pressed against his forehead, curled in a smile. "As I said before, one becomes experienced by doing."

John smiled too, and took one of his hands.  "Well then." He guided it down Sherlock's body. "Why don't I teach you how to experience self-pleasure first?"


End file.
